


I believe you.

by Coiriuil



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Greaserlock, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-25
Updated: 2014-07-25
Packaged: 2018-02-10 09:43:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2020305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Coiriuil/pseuds/Coiriuil
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Teenlock/greaserlock sheriarty. Jim takes protecting Sherlock a touch too far.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I believe you.

**Author's Note:**

> Brief mention of John Watson, slight hint of post- Johnlock angst.

You don’t like spending time with John anymore. Not since you started _‘hanging out’_ with Jimmy. Jimmy said ‘hanging out’ instead of ‘spending time’, and you assumed he did because it was cool. John would make you come to his house, on the other side of the tracks, and he’d make you lock the door to his room behind you. He only held your hand underneath the covers, and he didn’t look at you when he did. He kissed you quickly, almost guiltily, and told you not to tell. He kept you shut up tight, and he never spoke to you when his friends were around. He held Mary’s hand at school, and he didn’t hide it at all, not even when you walked by and stared.

Jimmy never did that.

Jimmy went out of his way to talk to you. He would wave at you from across the hall, or walk up behind you, his breath on the back of your neck as he said Goodmorning to you, how were you, and what were you doing after school. You always said ‘nothing’, because these days John was busy after classes with Mary and it was quietly decided that you wouldn’t even get to be his **_dirty little secret_ ** anymore, not when he had a perfect cover in his little blond cheerleader.

Jimmy asked to take you out, and you said yes. Jimmy was interesting and had been your friend for a long time, and made faces when you told him that John didn’t want people to know. 

  
“He’s an idiot, Sherlock. You could do better. You don’t need someone who sweeps you under the rug.”

He said it as if he took personal offense. You asked what he thought you ‘needed’ then, raising an eyebrow expectantly. Jimmy just smirked.

  
“An equal. Someone brilliant. Extraordinary. Like you.”

You swallowed then, looking down at the ground, your fingers combing through the grass in the field Jimmy had driven you both out to in his father’s car. You were sitting upright, and he was laying on his side, his chin propped up on his hand. Jimmy slicked his hair back, and at that particular moment, the sun was reflecting off it in a way that made you want to laugh, but you smile instead.

  
“What?”  Jimmy asked, looking up at you, quite unaware of the glint. 

  
“You’re um…catching a bit of a glare.”  Jimmy flushed at that, sitting up and clearing his throat.

  
“Right.” You were quiet for a while after that, and you didn’t pull away when he reached for your hand, pulling it into his lap and toying with your fingers almost absentmindedly. His pointer finger traced the web of veins in your palm, and up your arm, causing a slight shiver to pass through you. Jimmy smirked at that, helping you up and walking back to the car with you. He drove you home, and you weren’t necessarily surprised when he kissed you goodnight. You were surprised, however, at how soft it was, how gently his lips brushed over yours, quickly, but not guiltily, as John had been, but more as if to keep himself from going too far. You thanked him before leaving, smiling to yourself as you walked up the stairs to your room.

After that, Jimmy and you went places almost every day, sometimes to that field, sometimes to a diner, sometimes nowhere in particular, just driving around until you found a stretch of open road. He’d park and you’d watch the sun sink down, shades of orange and pink streaking through the sky, most of the time spent with Jimmy combing his fingers through your hair, or you fiddling with his fingers in your lap. He kissed you often, not quite as often as you would have liked him to, but each time was sweeter than the last, and seemed to promise more if you’d only asked.

Jimmy held your hand at school sometimes. In fact, there never seemed to be a moment that he wasn’t touching you, if he could help it. He’d hold your hand in the hallway, or walk next to you, his finger hooked through one of your belt loops. He would rest his chin on your shoulder while you got your books from you locker, and press a kiss to your knuckles before going to class. You blushed every time, no matter how accustomed to it you ought to have been. You didn’t like days that he didn’t take take you home, the days you didn’t ‘hang out’, because those were the days you walked home with John. He would scowl at the ground and say awful things about Jimmy, and yell at you when you told him to stop. He usually stalked off after that, and you never told Jimmy.

He didn’t like it when you smoked, but he told you if you ever wanted a cigarette to come to him. You thought it was because he wanted to have some semblance of control over your habit, even if he couldn’t ** _stop_** it. You asked him for one almost every day, and sometimes he’d give you one. Other times he’d kiss you until you forgot you wanted one in the first place. That’s what kept you asking, in the end. You soon found yourself questioning whether nicotine was the real addiction any more. You told him you loved the way he talked, the way he smiled, the way he called you brilliant…but those were facades for what you really wanted to say. It didn’t matter, in any case. Jimmy would just smile and say   
“I believe you.” And you’d half-heartedly punch his arm.

Jimmy was late to school the day that Carl Powers shoved you into the lockers. He called you all the usual names: Freak Show, Psycho, Weirdo. Only this time he called you a twink, and a queer, and hit your head against the wall, making your vision go blurry, and your ears ring. Everyone had left, but you were still sitting on the ground when Jimmy turned down the hallway, his usual smirk melting off his face as he saw you, speeding up and kneeling down beside you. He brushed back your hair and spoke softly to you, wiping away a few tears before actually asking what happened. He wouldn’t let it go, but you didn’t want him to hurt anyone. Jimmy was special and you cared for him, but sometimes you wondered how far he’d go to protect you, or himself. He made you tell him though, gripping your chin and making you meet his eyes. All he seemed to want was the name.

You and Jimmy skipped school that day, and he kissed you on the roof of your house, promising that no one was ever going to hurt you like that again. And you believed him.

When Carl Powers drowned in the pool, you were scared. You chewed the inside of your lip all day, and waited for Jimmy to come talk to you. But he wasn’t at school for the rest of that week. John had broken up with Mary, and in the hallway he touched your shoulder, and asked you to come home with him. You told him no, and not to ask anymore,and he kicked the lockers, but you left anyway.

On Saturday night you woke up to the sound of something hitting your window pane, and you knew before you opened the window who it would be. You stuck your head out and waved him up. He climbed fairly easily up the lattice and when you could reach him you pulled him in by the collar of his jacket. He said he was sorry for disappearing and that it wouldn’t happen again. He said he didn’t want you to be upset. You didn’t ask him if he killed Carl Powers, because you knew he did, and it didn’t change a thing. You just kissed him quiet and pulled him into bed, laying your head on his chest and silently daring him to say you were being too sentimental. You knew that caring was not an advantage, but you were willing to forget that. No one could convince you to go back to apathy now, not John, not your brother, certainly not your father, with all his yelling and name calling. You were sure it would hurt, but you couldn’t help it. You loved him and you wouldn’t wish it any different.   
“I love you.” The words didn’t come from you, though you had been gathering the courage to say them. You lifted your head up to see his eyes in the dim light provided by the moon, the worry in his eyes making your stomach twist. You leaned forward and kissed him, not pulling away until you felt him relax. He didn’t seem to want you say it back. His mouth seemed almost pleading, as if he already knew you loved him, and wanted to make sure you knew he loved you back. You smiled and ran your thumb across his bottom lip before you spoke.

"I believe you."


End file.
